


Time and Tide

by Sapphylicious



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphylicious/pseuds/Sapphylicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Time and tide wait for no man."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time and Tide

Suzaku wakes to ringing silence, the kind that echoes in your ears and seems to empty your head. Sitting up, he puts his hands over his ears as if to block it out. It's late, but some faint moonlight filters through half-closed curtains and outlines the bare structure of his small room. His vision is quick to adapt, a useful trait for a soldier, but occasionally troublesome too. Now he is wide-awake. The lit-up angles and corners of desk and wall appear knife-edged against the deeper shadows, and even his controlled, steady breathing seems loud.

He glances to the side where a plain digital clock sits, not quite registering the time so much as the memento that lies before it. The watch is tinted green beneath the glow of numbers that smoothly change. They make no noise; no grind of mechanisms or ticking of seconds, and plastic does not crack as delicately as glass.

But the watch has been silent for years, too. He's thought about getting it fixed, after all it is—important. He never does. Maybe that's important too.

He falls back into a restless sleep, and in his dreams he is hounded by a hollow _tic-tic-tic_ , marching straight lines into patterns he doesn't understand. Suzaku wakes in the morning feeling like he's not slept at all, cutting off the buzz of his alarm with perhaps more force than necessary. Once he is up and dressed, he picks up the watch, considers its shattered face, and places it back on the desk. He goes to class, struggles to keep up with lectures, and tries not to seem too relieved when Lelouch suggests studying together sometime this week.

There is a student council meeting in the afternoon, but he leaves early. Military work. He stops by his room briefly and hesitates by the desk again. He reaches his hand out, pauses, picks up the watch and tucks it away where it nestles familiar and hidden.

#

"As I thought, it's no good at all!"

I know, he thinks with resignation, his eyes closing for a moment but with a jolt and a memory he snaps them open again. It's been a few days, a few more restless nights, and the effects are starting to wear on him. Not the lack of sleep, because he's suffered worse when it comes to that, but the troubled undercurrent is becoming tiresome. It's nothing much, just a breeze making a few waves, but it hasn't let up and Suzaku doesn't need to be told that he's off his game.

"Sorry," he says, looking at the screen with today's test results but the statistics mean nothing to him. He sees Lancelot in the corner of his eye and can't bring himself to turn his face. He's started to consider the Knightmare his partner of sorts, though no honorary Britannian has the right to think that way, and right now he definitely feels unworthy.

But it will pass, it should.

"They're still good scores," assures Cecile with a warm smile, discreetly elbowing Lloyd. "Just not up to your usual. Is anything troubling you, Suzaku? Still having difficulty at school?"

There's an automatic pause like he's thinking about the question. "No, I'm fine, and I can handle the schoolwork. My friends help."

"Are you taking care of yourself?" She persists like a concerned mother. It's not the most advantageous trait in a military profession, but he likes that about her all the same.

"I guess I've been having some trouble sleeping lately..."

But it's no big deal, he tells them, and promises to be in top condition next time. Cecile is content with that, and Lloyd accepts it as well, but he's giving Suzaku that sideways look like he's thought of something to keep to himself. Suzaku is used to that.

#

It's late and he's given up on trying to sleep. He just can't turn his brain off tonight, a hundred thoughts filling his mind, all of them inane and distracting. Classes are more confusing than ever. They aren't that important— Well, they _are_ , but... Anyway, Lelouch says they can study tomorrow night, and Lelouch is just as smart as Suzaku remembers, even though he keeps skipping classes. Shirley says he spends all of his time playing chess against nobles, and Suzaku just shakes his head and figures there's no helping it. Lelouch knows how to be careful.

There's no noise in the men's room except the hum of ventilated air and the splash of water to his face. He doesn't really know what he's doing, awake like a ghost in the middle of the night and trying to wash these unnecessary thoughts away, trying to clear his head. The tile is cold under his feet and it's always been chilly in this part of the building, but there are those pointless thoughts again. His hands are gripping the sink tightly. He feels weary, yet tense. Suzaku peers at his reflection through damp curls and can see... Something. He's not sure. He doesn't know why he's looking.

His fingers touch the mirror, sliding over its smooth surface and leaving droplets of water in their wake until his hand blocks most of his features. It's just my reflection, he tells himself, but his hand doesn't move. He's aware then of the faucet dripping, a soft, stuttering sound that ends as he turns the knob more tightly and he's left staring at the glistening white of the sink that doesn't reflect his image. He closes his eyes, fingers curling into a fist against the glass.

When morning comes he's sprawled sideways on his bed and doesn't remember how he got there. His hand hurts. He turns his head to see and just stares disconnectedly at his bloody knuckles until the alarm goes off.

#

"It's late. That's enough for tonight."

Suzaku blinks, looks to the clock on the wall. It isn't that late.

"And you obviously need some rest," Lelouch adds while closing his textbook. His words and tone aren't very friendly, he sounds bored, but his brows are drawn together with concern.

Suzaku hopes that his smile isn't as tired as he feels, thinks that he fails judging by the deepening expression on his friend's face. "Sorry, does it show that much?"

"You look terrible," Lelouch answers bluntly, followed by the expected, "Are you all right?"

"Just some insomnia."

"You must be working too much. The military does seem to demand a lot of your time. They should have more consideration for a student."

Suzaku shakes his head. He gets the feeling that Lelouch doesn't approve of his job. Well, that's obvious, of course Lelouch still hates Britannia, he said as much when they met. But this way Suzaku can protect people... "It's my fault. I'll be able to handle it."

Lelouch reaches across the table and catches his wrist, examining the bandaged hand. "What about this?"

"This is just—" He can't remember. "—I was careless." Lelouch continues to frown and Suzaku knows he's trying to put together a puzzle without all the pieces. "You know me, I'm always sporting a scrape or bruise somewhere."

He's still suspicious, but he meets Suzaku's eyes and... Does not let it go, but puts it aside for now. "Come here, then." He gives his arm a tug.

Now Suzaku is the one puzzling, but he follows Lelouch out of the room all the same. "I already treated it."

Lelouch gives him a flat, almost threatening look, then waves a hand dismissively. "Not about that. Just come."

He leads him outside to a grassy area where they sit down, and with the cool breeze and the buzz of insects Suzaku thinks he understands. "It's noisy," he comments with an embarrassed little half-smile that probably can't be seen in the dark. The sun had set a while ago and a curtain of familiar constellations is spread across the sky.

There's a soft snort from Lelouch. "That's what _I_ said, and you told me to shut up and deal with it." The grass rustles as he lies on his back, hands tucked behind his head to gaze at the stars. It's a good night for it. "There. _Hokuto Shichisei_ , right?"

"The Big Dipper," Suzaku translates, his voice rough with emotion. They've reversed roles, it seems. Seven years ago it was Lelouch who couldn't sleep, still getting used to living in Japan and fiercely rejecting aid from anyone else. Suzaku had dragged him outside one night, plopped down on the ground, and told him the Japanese names of the constellations, overriding every little complaint. He shouldn't be surprised Lelouch remembers, but he is, pleasantly so.

Lelouch doesn't just name them, he tells their stories. Suzaku knows them just as well, but it's nice to listen to his voice, deep and soothing. This is the brother that Nunnally adores. This is the friend that Suzaku cannot sum up in a word.

And it's his friend he wakes up next to, early in the morning with the sun turning the gray sky pink. Lelouch is curled slightly into Suzaku's side, head pillowed on his arm – which is definitely numb. He retrieves his limb without disturbing Lelouch, shaking out the pins and needles while regarding him with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. It's all right for Suzaku to fall asleep outside, he never gets sick, but Lelouch is a different story. He feels Lelouch's forehead and sighs, flexes the tingling out of his fingers, and gathers up the sleeping boy with ease.

"I thought so," he says to the slim, warm figure that starts to wake up and protest being carried in such a manner. "Hold still, you've got a fever. Stupid, you should've gone inside."

Groggy and flushed, Lelouch still manages to scoff imperiously at the suggestion. "And have left you snoring out here? Please. Who else is going to be responsible for you?"

"So let me return the favor," he counters with a victorious grin, and isn't satisfied until Lelouch is comfortable in bed and dozing off again. Suzaku is sorely tempted to stay by his friend's side for a while longer. He wants to, but Lelouch doesn't need him here. He thinks maybe he needed Lelouch last night, and that's enough. More than enough.

_'Who else is going to be responsible for you?'_

Who else, indeed.

#

The princess is always dancing in his dreams, twirling, twirling, in her white silks and satins and pretty bare feet. She is shadowless and shapeless, a billowing cloud of whimsy that sways to unheard music. He listens for it, yearns painfully to hear the tune she's laughing to, but there is only the whisper of her movement as she glides by.

He tries to follow her steps then, to mirror her gestures because he knows that even if he reaches out he will not touch her. Her hand is stretched towards him, inviting, and she sweeps along.

Her rhythm is not so complicated, but somehow he cannot match it. His footfalls sound heavy and basic, drumming a beat that he cannot avoid and they are terribly mismatched. He wants to apologize, but he doesn't want to stop, and she doesn't let him. They continue with this parody and sometimes it's as if he has her in his arms, though she is weightless and scentless and slips away with a phantom smile.

At some point her pace quickens, she spins, arms wide, further and further away. He ends up running after her image, feet striking the ground in a brisk _tap-tap-tap_ that seems to ricochet in the empty space all around them. He runs until he's dizzy from the sound. Eventually he falls, disoriented, as if his world has turned upside-down, or maybe he's finally right side-up. 

Still, the princess dances.

#

Her blood has seeped through his clothes, into his skin, and part of him never wants to cleanse her from his system. There is a place for her here, inside, like a key fitting into a lock, and he must always keep it safe. She's left her mark on him and that's all that matters. There's another part of him that shakes and feels sick at the smell in the sterile room. He reaches without thinking and grasps the familiar disc that is his father's watch, feeling its broken face press into his gloved palm, he calls to mind its frozen hands.

Suzaku walks to her bed and forces himself to look at her. She is beautiful in repose, but still a pale imitation to her smiling, laughing self. He lingers upon her eyes that were so clouded and full of shadows before they closed, and starts to cover them just from the memory. But maybe it's not him who doesn't want to see her. He thinks, very soon, it will be the other way around. There are dangerous thoughts running through his head and he's squeezing the watch so tightly that it hurts.

He loosens his grip only when the pain really registers from sharp glass cutting through thin fabric and into callused skin. Another red stain has appeared on his white uniform and for a moment he's at a loss. But then he decides that it doesn't matter, not anymore, since right now his blood isn't any different from hers. 

He takes the tip of a finger in his teeth and pulls one glove off, switches hands with the watch and does the other, and cradles the memento like an offering. He places it above her folded hands and tells himself it's a simple exchange, a part of her for a part of him. Her blood is heavy and he supposes it always will be. A broken pocket watch seems small in comparison, but he looks at the wound on his palm and knows differently.

By the time he reaches the locker room, he's stopped shaking. When he strips off the bloodstained uniform, he's composed. The pristine pilot suit molds to him like a second skin, but layer beneath layer she's still present, and it’s her phone he hooks around his ear.

#

His hand aches from the cut as he maintains his treacherous grip on the gun, and the shot cracks over the pounding of his heart. 


End file.
